


Falling Is Like This

by wowbright



Series: Glee Season 2 fic [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: 2.14, BIOTA, Episode: s02e14 Blame It On the Alcohol, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Romance, Pre-Slash, Romance, blame it on the alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wowbright/pseuds/wowbright
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fact the he enjoyed kissing Rachel at the party is confusing for Blaine. But what's more confusing is Kurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Monday, You Can Fall Apart

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at figuring out what was going on in the boys' heads during 'Blame It on the Alcohol' (2.14) and why that argument in the Lima Bean didn't kill their friendship. Canon-compatible, even when I really didn't want it to be. Mountains of indebtedness to the amazing verdandil.

  
   
 **Falling is Like This**

 **Chapter 1: Monday, You Can Fall Apart**  
   
Kurt has managed to keep his cool for 41 hours and 34 minutes. But there is only so much even he can handle, and he's just found his tipping point.  
   
"What's the harm in going out on one crummy little date?" Blaine says. He's completely avoiding eye contact with Kurt, focusing on shaking the sugar packet into his medium-drip.  
   
Kurt is not usually big on blaspheming in other people's religions, but _Jesus. Fucking. Christ._ _You really don't know why going on a date with Rachel Berry is a big fucking deal?_  
   
He leans across the tiny café table. "You're _gay_ , Blaine." He can barely keep his voice steady.  
   
Blaine keeps fiddling with his coffee, eyes on his hands. He snaps the lid onto its cup, pries it back off, whips the stirrer around – like if he looks up, Kurt will bite his head off. Which maybe Kurt will. "I _thought_ I was. But I've never even had a _boyfriend_ before." He risks a brief look up at Kurt. "Isn't this supposed to be the time you figure stuff out?"  
   
And then the words just rush out of Blaine's mouth like air from a tire. "Maybe I'm bi. I don't know."  
   
That's when Kurt loses it. Generally, Kurt likes that he can be witty and smug and totally on the offensive when he's pissed off. It makes people think they haven't hurt him, that they never will be able to hurt him, no matter how much they try. They might make his stomach churn with fear and despair, but if he hurts them back, they'll be too busy tending their own tiny wounds to notice that they've shattered him into so many little pieces that no apology could ever glue them all back together.  
   
And rage – it's so much better than the alternative of hopeless sobbing.  
   
He lets the words fly out before he can weigh them.  
   
" _Bisexual_ is a term that gay guys in high school use when they want to hold hands with girls and feel like a normal person for a change."  
   
As soon as the words leave Kurt's mouth, he feels lightheaded and glowing and sick at the same time. It's like he has two bodies. There is his center, where his stomach feels queasy and his heart is clenched as tight as a fist – because he was just _cruel_ to _Blaine_. But then there's the rest of him. His fingers are tingling and his head is buzzing and his brain just cries, _wow_ , _that's so much better –_ because no one can hurt Kurt Hummel without getting hurt back.  
   
Kurt wants to vomit.  
   
Blaine's face pales and his eyes seem smaller and he pulls his upper arms tighter into his sides. Kurt sees Blaine shrinking before him, and he hates himself for it.  
   
Blaine looks up at him, latches his eyes onto Kurt's for the first time since this spat started. And Kurt wishes that Blaine's eyes were hot with fury, but they just look tired, and maybe a little afraid of Kurt.  
   
Blaine's voice is hushed and weak, and he fumbles with his words. "Whoawawawaiwaiwait. Why're you so angry?"  
   
Kurt's heard this question before, and it never means what it sounds like. No one, besides maybe his father, has ever cared why Kurt is angry about anything. _Why are you so angry?_ invariably means _Stop being angry so I don't have to think about why you are._  
   
But Blaine says _Why are you so angry?_ with such confusion on his face that Kurt realizes Blaine actually wants the answer.  
   
Kurt knows this is his opportunity. But his brain has absolutely no control of what comes out of his mouth. He doesn't talk about what happened Saturday night, or what's been happening for months, since the first time Blaine looked up at him on that spiraling staircase in Dalton and his eyes seemed to say, _Oh, there you are._ Kurt doesn't say that this is all too much, it's all been too much from that very moment: Blaine taking Kurt's hand, Blaine crooning at him to _go all the way tonight_ , Blaine wrapping his arm around Kurt's shoulders, Blaine patting Kurt's knee, Blaine singing _your eyes are like stars right now_ and looking at Kurt as if he really meant it, Blaine saying _I don't want to mess this up_ but messing it all up anyway.  
   
Kurt doesn't say any of that. Instead, he does what is easy for him. He flings verbal arrows and watches every one of them sink into their target.  
   
Kurt sees that Blaine is trying not to cry. But Kurt doesn't know how to stop this.  
   
And then Blaine storms off with a snide little pun about not saying "bye" because it sounds like "bi" and God forbid that anyone offend Kurt.  
   
It's so unlike Blaine to be snarky. That's Kurt's job.  
   
Kurt waits. He sips his mocha slowly until his cup is empty, then reaches across the table for Blaine's cup, which is less than lukewarm now.  
   
Blaine is gone.  
   
Kurt knows that Blaine isn't coming back, but he continues to sit there, letting Blaine's coffee cool further in his hand. He doesn't want to let it go.  
   
\------------------  
   
Kurt knows he deserves this. He deserves Blaine walking away and he deserves to wallow in his own remorse while that stupid old couple at the next table glances at him uncomfortably. Maybe they're looking at him that way because they've never heard someone say "gay" and "bisexual" so many times in one minute, but Kurt prefers to think it's because they're horrified that he's been such an asshole to his not-boyfriend.  
   
Kurt wishes he could learn a new way to be angry, at least around Blaine. He's not sure what that would look like, but he knows it wouldn't involve making sweeping and kind of bigoted generalizations. He wasn't trying to say that _every_ high school guy who calls himself bisexual is really just gay and insecure. What he meant was that _Blaine_ is.  
   
Okay, that probably wouldn't have come across any better.  
   
Still, Kurt can't get rid of the conviction in his gut: Blaine is, one, so desperate to make out with someone that he will convince himself that he's attracted to Rachel Berry just so he can and, two, so afraid of making out with someone he might actually be attracted to that he _won't_ kiss Kurt.  
   
Well, that's not quite true. Blaine tried when he was drunk. But Kurt tells himself that doesn't count, even if he wants it to. There is no accounting for taste when someone is drunk.  
   
Kurt had dragged Blaine into an out-of the-way corner at Rachel's party because Blaine had been embarrassing himself in front of Finn, putting his arm around him and cooing about how cool it was that Kurt and Finn are brothers. Finn acted like it was fine, if a little weird but, frankly, it looked to Kurt like maybe Blaine was hitting on Finn. Not that Kurt had ever seen Blaine hit on someone outside of the Gap attack, but it was better to be safe than sorry.  
   
So Kurt and Blaine sat in their safe corner, bouncing their heads to the thrumming beat of an interminable dance mix of "Like a G6," and Kurt tried not to look at Blaine too much. After all his dancing, Blaine's curls were starting to break loose and tumble over his forehead, and Kurt wanted to twist his fingers in them and gently tug Blaine toward his face and breathe in his breath before – _okay, that's enough_.  
   
So Kurt was not looking at Blaine. He was looking over where most of the party was clustered with Brittany and Santana at the center, doing body shots off of each other. "Did I ever tell you that I kissed Brittany?" Kurt said.  
   
Blaine was giggly as a little boy. "No way," he beamed. "Not my Kurt."  
   
 _My Kurt._  
   
Kurt forgot how to breathe momentarily, caught Blaine's eyes to decipher his meaning. _Yes. Yes, I'm your Kurt,_ he wanted to say. But instead Kurt looked down at his hands, then back up at Brittany, and let out a loud, long exhalation.  
   
"Yeah," Kurt said. "Coach Sylvester asked how I knew I was gay if I'd never even kissed anyone, and my dad was being unusually terrible at relating to his gay son, so I let Brittany come over and we made out on my couch."  
   
It was only after Kurt said this that he realized he had let more slip than he'd meant to. He hadn't really wanted Blaine to know that he had ever felt that insecure about being gay. Blaine never had any doubts. Kurt wanted to be that way, too.  
   
But Blaine didn't seem to pick up on Kurt's insecurities. His eyes were wide open and his jaw was dropping, dropping until Kurt could see Blaine's tongue and Kurt was really, really trying not to notice how delicious it looked. Blaine's eyebrows arched up so high they looked like they might just shoot off the top of his forehead at any moment.  
   
"You _made out?"_ Blaine squealed.  
   
Kurt breathed out a soft laugh. "Well, it was actually mostly Brittany doing the making out. I just kind of lay there."  
   
Kurt giggled at himself. He could not believe he was telling this to Blaine. He was probably only telling it to Blaine because Mr. Perfect was drunk and acting a little like an idiot. So, for once, Kurt didn't feel quite so self-conscious about having a few flaws.  
   
"And – ?" Blaine's wide eyes were egging Kurt on.  
   
Kurt continued. "It was – interesting. Mostly awkward. But I made her tell me what it was like to kiss boys, and then for a while she was quiet and I closed my eyes and imagined it was Taylor Lautner and then – well, then it was really pretty good."  
   
Kurt did _not_ just say that. He blushed and glanced down, wondering which was brighter at the moment – his face or his red shirt.  
   
Blaine looked back over at Brittany and Santana, and Kurt's eyes followed. Brittany was licking salt off of Santana's stomach, just below her belly button and awfully close to her waistband.  
   
"Eh, she's bush league," said Blaine, and Kurt started to laugh before realizing that Blaine was probably too drunk to have meant the double-entendre. He got so focused on turning his laughter into a cough that he almost missed what Blaine said next:  
   
"I could kiss you way better than that."  
   
Kurt whipped his face back toward Blaine. Blaine had an impish grin and his watery, drunken eyes darted from Kurt's eyelashes, to his hair, to his chin. They stopped on Kurt's mouth.  
   
Blaine's grin faded into a calm smile, his lips slightly parted. His drunken eyes were goddamn _sparkling_ , and they seemed to sparkle a little more, the closer to Kurt's face they got.  
   
Blaine's mouth was so close, Kurt could almost taste the alcohol on Blaine's breath.  
   
 _Think._ Blaine clearly wasn't, so Kurt had to.  
   
Kurt forced out a light laugh. "I'm certain you could, Blaine." And in one light motion Kurt leaped to his feet.  
   
He looked down at Blaine. "I'll get you a soda." To not collapse back onto the floor and throw himself at Blaine, press him against the carpet and steal a kiss for every day he has gone without – it took all the strength Kurt had. But Kurt Hummel was a performer before everything else, and if he couldn't perform under pressure, he wasn't worthy of the label. He made himself look stern, disapproving. He made himself tower over Blaine.  
   
"Man," Blaine sighed. "Do that jumping thing again. You're _lithesome_." Blaine's neck craned back, exposing the throat that was usually hidden by uniform collar and tie, and Kurt's mind went close to blank. The top buttons of Blaine's Henley had fallen open, hinting at the chest beneath. Kurt could see nothing but skin, think of nothing but that he _must not touch._  
   
It could not be like this. It could not happen when Blaine was drunk. It was supposed to happen one day as they walked out of the Lima Bean, shoulders touching, and they got to their cars and Blaine realized that he didn't want to say goodbye.  
   
"Blaine, I'll get you a Pepsi." Kurt made a brisk turn toward the snack table.  
   
"No."  
   
Kurt turned around and tried to give his most disapproving scowl to Blaine. He was _not_ going to grab Blaine more booze.  
   
Blaine registered the disapproval, cocked one eyebrow, smiled meekly, and lowered his eyes to Kurt's chest. "Red," he said, almost imperceptibly. "I want something that tastes red."  
   
Kurt looked down at his red shirt and was pretty sure that Blaine was _not_ talking about a Cherry 7UP.  
   
The evening went downhill from there. Rachel called the game of spin-the-bottle while Kurt was pouring Blaine's soda, and Blaine went from sucking face with Rachel at the party to groping Kurt in the Volvo. Kurt really didn't think it could get any worse by the time he was dragging Blaine up the stairs. And then Blaine tripped on the last step, keeling them onto the landing. Kurt tried to hold Blaine up, but the momentum was too much and he ended up on his back, Blaine sprawled on top of him.  
   
Kurt listened for stirring from his parents' bedroom, but there wasn't a sound except for Blaine's warm, boozy breath and Kurt's own heart pounding in his head. Their lungs heaved in time, pressing their chests minutely closer, then minutely apart. Blaine lifted himself up slightly, looking down at Kurt with a too bright smile and his curls all wild and – _Oh, Medusa_.  
   
"Hello," Blaine whispered, a little shyly. Even though it was dark in the hall, there was enough moonlight that Kurt could see Blaine's eyes on his, could see Blaine chewing at his lower lip.  
   
Blaine was heavy and warm and delightful and Kurt wanted to disappear into him. "Hi," Kurt tried to say, but he didn't hear any sound come out.  
   
A loud snore from down the hall made Kurt jump in his skin. He rolled out from under Blaine, stood and pulled Blaine toward the bedroom, filled with dread.  
   
"You're so pretty," Blaine gazed up at him when Kurt dropped him on the bed. Kurt towered over Blaine, scowling at him.  
   
"I love it when you look at me that way," sighed Blaine. "No one ever disapproves of me – not the way you do." His gaze was so happy and soft and needy that Kurt wasn't sure whether he should laugh or melt.  
   
Blaine reached out and hooked his hand around the back of Kurt's thigh, trying to pull him down. "Come here."  
   
Blaine was a pathetically weak drunk. Kurt stayed standing, folded his arms together across his chest. "Blaine, do you need to pee again before you go to sleep?"  
   
Blaine giggled. "Probably." But then he stopped giggling and his voice dropped, like, two octaves. "But I can't."  
   
"What do you mean, you can't?" Kurt snapped. And then, horrified, he wished he hadn't. _Don't answer that. Don't answer that._ The words were perfectly formed in his head, but Blaine was raising himself up to his knees now, turning to face Kurt, inches away, breathing shallowly, and Kurt could not say a thing.  
   
Blaine leaned into Kurt's ear, his voice unbearably quiet. "You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?" Blaine's hands were on Kurt's hips, drawing him in, and then Blaine was pressing into Kurt's body and –  
   
 _Oh. My. God._  
 

 

Kurt pried Blaine's hands away and jumped backward. "Okay. I think we've had enough of that," he said. "Go to the bathroom. There are toothbrushes under the sink."  
   
One would think those were pretty innocuous words – unless, apparently, one were Blaine Anderson and very, very drunk. Because when Blaine came back and found Kurt making himself a pallet on the floor, he flopped down on the blankets in front of Kurt and gazed at him from under those amazing lashes.  
   
"I brushed my teeth," Blaine whispered, looking at Kurt's lips and inching closer. "Now can I kiss you?"  
   
Blaine touched his fingertips to Kurt's sideburn. It was the touch Kurt had always wanted, except that right now, it was all _wrong_. "You're so – beautiful," Blaine breathed. His look was tender and Kurt could feel Blaine's hand start to tremble against his jaw. "Please. I really want this."  
   
"Get in bed," Kurt whispered. His voice was shaking. His whole body was. Blaine's eyes widened – _was it awe?_ – and he never took them off of Kurt as he lifted himself on top of the covers, then stretched his hand toward Kurt.  
   
Kurt's heart almost broke. He looked down at his own hands, clenched against his thighs in tight little fists, and willed them to stay there. "Blaine, get under the duvet," he said with every bit of calm resolve he could muster. "Go to sleep."  
   
"Kurt?" Blaine whispered, and he sounded so lost and confused and desperate, but Kurt refused to look up. He knew that all the eagerness and joy had been wiped from Blaine's face – that Kurt had wiped it from Blaine's face – and Kurt couldn't bear to see what had replaced it.  
   
"Good night, Blaine," said Kurt, lying down in his own pile of blankets and turning his back to his friend.  
   
"Speak for yourself," Blaine muttered.

\------------------  
   
Blaine has his head on his steering wheel and he's trying to gather the strength to drive back to Dalton. _Blaine Anderson, you are not going to cry. You are NOT going to cry. You are going to turn on the motor and get out of this parking lot and sing along to Katy Perry's "I Kissed a Girl" and laugh at the irony the whole way back to Dalton._  
   
Blaine breathes in.  
   
Coffee with Kurt today was supposed to fix everything. That's what talking to Kurt usually does when Blaine's confused. Blaine is not good at introspection. He doesn't usually spend a lot of time questioning why he feels a certain way, or whether acting on his feelings is a good idea or a bad one. (Case in point: Serenading Jeremiah at the Gap.) But when Blaine talks to Kurt, things become clearer. Kurt has a way of making Blaine think more deeply about things, and sometimes Blaine isn't sure who he's learned more about since they became friends: Kurt or himself.  
   
But that's not what happened today. _God, no_.  
   
Blaine starts to cry. And once he starts, he can't stop. The tears are running out his nose and his breathing is jagged and shallow. His chest spasms, making him gulp so hard for air that the noise of it shocks him. He vaguely remembers crying like this when he was little, the feel of a cold wet washcloth on his cheeks and forehead as his mom held it in place and reminded him to breathe. He's lost his hold on the world – everything is spinning away from him, and he will never be able to grasp it again. It's moving too far and too fast.  
   
Blaine's wondering if it's safe to say that these have been the worst two days of his life. That seems a little melodramatic. Maybe the most confusing?  
   
He hadn't been planning to drink much at Rachel's party. These were Kurt's friends, and this was the first time he was really hanging out with all of them. He wanted to make a good impression. No – it was more than want. It was like food or shelter or clothing. He _needed_ to.  
   
But then they were all drinking like dogs and Blaine thought, _Hey, no harm in indulging. Might as well fit in._ And he was glad to have that excuse, because he'd been wound so tight since that conversation with Kurt, the day after the Gap attack,  
about Kurt thinking that the one Blaine had wanted to ask out for Valentine's Day was not some closeted college kid who worked at the Gap, but _Kurt._  
   
It had been a cross between a punch to the gut and the warm, glowing feeling Blaine gets when he naps in the afternoon sun. It left him feeling giddy and inept.  
   
The giddiness faded, but the ineptness stayed, haunting every waking minute and even, sometimes, Blaine's sleep. It took all his strength to keep up his usual confident, know-everything appearance. His teachers didn't seem to notice, the Warblers didn't seem to notice, his parents didn't seem to notice, _Kurt_ didn't seem to notice. But there it was, coiling around his sternum so tightly it was a wonder that he could breathe.  
   
So when, at the party, Blaine saw that everyone was heading toward trashed, he figured they wouldn't hold it against him if he drank a little, too.  
   
Blaine was just going for a little buzz. But after his first drink, his chest was still tight and Kurt was still inscrutable. So he told Puck to make him something stronger, and when he drank it, it felt like lava was pouring through his chest and melting the band that had gripped his heart for these two weeks.  
   
Blaine felt like flying. Instead, he danced. The dancing stirred up love, and he wanted to share it with everybody. Blaine grabbed Finn to tell him how great he was for overcoming his awkwardness over Kurt's old crush and turning into a real, supportive brother _, because Kurt is awesome and everyone should love him and why the fuck don't they? What the fuck is wrong with them? Except that you, Finn, do love Kurt and that just shows anyone who doesn't that they are big, fucking losers._ But the gratitude Blaine felt was so overwhelming all he could get out was something like, "It is so cool that you and Kurt are brothers. Brothers!" and Kurt seemed ashamed of Blaine and dragged him off to sit in a quiet corner away from Kurt's friends.  
   
Alcohol is supposed to make you stupid. It's supposed to cloud your judgment. But Blaine is pretty sure he has never seen anything so clearly as when he sat next to Kurt in that corner. How could he have never noticed the way that Kurt's cheeks constantly change color when he talks, pulsing from ivory to coral to rose to bone china as visual punctuation to his stories? How could he never have seen that Kurt's eyes are not green or blue or hazel, but goddamn _cerulean?_ How could he never have noticed how quickly Kurt's face switches from inscrutable to inviting and back again?  
   
And so Blaine said things, in his clumsy, drunken, virginal way. He said things because he wanted things, he wanted them with Kurt, and he knew if he had them, this freedom he was feeling wouldn't wear off with the alcohol. It would be his to keep.  
   
But Kurt – Blaine doesn’t understand Kurt. He thought Kurt liked him. As more than a friend. Isn't that what the pre-Valentine's Day conversation at the Lima Bean was about? But Kurt just laughed at him, waved him off, stomped away.  
   
Blaine adores Kurt Hummel and he needs Kurt Hummel in his life, one way or the other. But he doesn't think he will ever understand him.  
   
Fine. So screw Kurt. He didn't have the right to ruin everything. Blaine was having fun at the party, and he was going to continue having fun. If that entailed leaning over Kurt to kiss an aesthetically pleasing girl during a game of spin-the-bottle, so be it. And it was nice. It was at least as good as what Kurt described with Brittany. Rachel's skin was almost as smooth as Kurt's if not quite so glowing, and her lips were soft and scrumptious and tasted like strawberry wine coolers. Maybe the fact that Blaine had one hand on Kurt's knee to hold himself up and that Blaine got a whiff of Kurt's hair spray and fabric softener – maybe that had something to do with why Blaine did _not_ want to stop kissing, _ever_. Maybe. Who cares? It felt good.  
   
And so Blaine attached himself to Rachel's mouth several more times before the end of the party. At first, he tried it while they were both standing and he had to lean his head really far down to kiss her, and it was kind of uncomfortable and pretty distracting and sort of weird because she is about the same height as his mother, and he wondered if this meant he should never date anyone taller than him – okay, why did Kurt have to come specifically to mind? – because he didn't want anyone who was kissing him to be as distracted by his height as he was distracted by Rachel Berry's height, because he was really not enjoying this kiss at all. Well, okay, her lips were still soft and tasted like wine coolers, but whatever had been there during spin-the-bottle was gone.  
   
So he tried a couple more times on the couch, and again when she was standing on the edge of the stage and he was next to it, and those times were a little better. He liked the way she tugged on his bottom lip and giggled when she kissed him. It made him feel like a little kid, like when he used to play [Twister](http://www.hasbro.com/games/en_US/twister/) with his friends and they'd get caught up in a giant knot and tumble over and laugh so hard they'd almost pee themselves.  
   
Kissing Rachel felt good. But where did the goodness come from? Was it Rachel herself, all brass and ballsiness? Was it the physical sensation that came from knowing that someone wanted him? Was it because he was safe kissing her – love or no love – because no one was going to hurt him for it?  
   
It was nice kissing Rachel. As nice as kissing a boy? He doesn't know. He has nothing to compare it with.  
   
He might have eventually kissed that boy after the Sadie Hawkins dance at his old school, but instead they got the crap beaten out of them. That boy wasn't worth it – not 11 stitches, a limp that dogged Blaine through Christmas, and the ache of terror that grips Blaine's stomach every time he steps into a parking lot at night. The desire to kiss him had just been a curiosity, a vague want. It wasn't a need for _that_ boy.  
   
Blaine needed something to compare kissing Rachel with. He was pretty sure Kurt would be better, but why not find out for real?  
   
So he tried again to give it a go with Kurt in the Volvo. When Blaine handed Kurt the keys, he grabbed onto Kurt's hand and tried to pull him in; Kurt was as immovable as a tombstone. When Kurt lowered him into the passenger seat, Blaine held onto Kurt's biceps and tried to drag him down with him; Kurt shook him off like a fly. When Blaine bent over Kurt's lap to show him exactly where the seat-adjustment lever is, Kurt yanked Blaine by the shoulders and tossed him back into his own seat ( _and God, that was startlingly hot_ ). When they were waiting at a traffic light and Blaine put his hand on Kurt's thigh to thank him for not making him carsick and also to move in for a kiss, Kurt robotically removed the hand and placed it back in Blaine's lap.  
   
"Apparently you'll make out with anybody when you're drunk," Kurt snapped. The words stabbed Blaine.  
   
Blaine knew he should stop trying, but he couldn't. He was overcome by Kurt, and it was impossible _not_ to try to close the gap between them. Even Kurt's scowl was stunning. It made Kurt's lips fuller, his eyes spark. His brows arched and Blaine wanted to disappear into the furrow between them.  
   
Had he ever wanted anything so much? If he had, he certainly couldn't remember it. Just to kiss Kurt long and deliriously and all night – that would be enough to make this aching go away.  
   
But Kurt was in charge, and he was having none of it. So Blaine lay alone in the bed and slept fitfully, drifting into dreams of Kurt's face and hands and skin, drifting  back into consciousness and empty arms and a bed that smelled tantalizingly of Kurt. By the time the sun came up, Blaine was so exhausted that he finally passed out for three blessed hours and, when he woke up, even forgot for a sweet, too-short moment where he was and what he had done the previous night.  
   
Then it all came rushing back, and Blaine wanted to be anywhere else but Kurt's bed.  
   
Wasn't drinking supposed to make you forget things? Okay, so Blaine couldn't remember where his shoes were or how many drinks he'd had, and when he recalled bouncing around on stage with Rachel Berry, he could only remember that it was a song by some very gay eighties band, but not which one it was.  
   
But the kissing? Blaine remembered that. And the want? Blaine _definitely_ remembered that. And Blaine's hideous, drunken attempts at wooing Kurt? _Oh, God, have mercy –_ Blaine was pretty sure he remembered all of it.  
   
What he remembered most clearly, though, was the rejection. The way that Kurt wouldn't even look at him by the end of the night. How he turned his back to him and slept on the _floor_ because who in his right mind would want to share a bed with Blaine Anderson?  
   
Kurt, of course, acted like nothing had happened. He spoke soothingly and nursed Blaine's hangover with coffee and dry toast and rubbed his pounding head. It was exactly what Blaine needed, but he wished that Kurt would kick him out of the bed and push him down the stairs and throw him out the door.  
   
Blaine deserved nothing less.  
   
Because Blaine Anderson is supposed to be a gentleman. He is not supposed to have the hots for his best friend and, even if he does, he is not supposed to act on it because that would mess everything up. He'd promised himself, and he'd promised Kurt, that he was not going to mess this up.  
   
And now, he's messed it up.  
   
When he started talking about being bi in the Lima Bean, he was just trying to undo the weekend, to return to their old habit of talking unreservedly about everything except what they might or might not feel for each other.  
   
It wasn't a proclamation of some new identity. It's just that kissing Rachel is nice – kissing Kurt would be nicer, but Blaine has clearly lost his chance on that one. And if kissing Rachel is this nice when he barely knows her, then maybe one day – once he's known her as long and as well as he knows Kurt – it will be electric. He can't know unless he gives it a chance.  
   
If Kurt doesn't want him anymore, why won't he just let Blaine go?  
   
So here Blaine is, collapsed on his steering wheel in a mall parking lot, exhausted from crying, slowing his tears by following his mother's old admonition to breathe.  
\------------------  
   
When Kurt finally leaves the mall, Blaine's car is gone. They'd parked next to each other and, where the Volvo once was, there's an empty space. Kurt gets this image of Blaine unconscious and bleeding in the driver's seat on the shoulder of US 33. _Blaine's going to die because he didn't have his afternoon coffee and was crying too hard to see the road, and it's your fault, Kurt Hummel._  
   
Kurt gets into the Navigator and tells himself to stop being so hysterical. Still, he can't stop himself from picking up the phone and texting to Blaine, "I hope you're OK," even though he's pretty sure that he's the last person in the world Blaine wants to hear from right now.  
   
It's a few minutes before Kurt's phone buzzes.  
   
From: Blaine Warbler  
I'll talk to you later.  
4:43 PM  
   
Kurt sighs, puts down the phone, and turns the key in the ignition. In the best of all possible worlds, maybe Blaine would have said more. But they're not living in the best of all possible worlds, and Kurt is pretty happy with what he just got.  
\------------------  
   
Blaine drives back to Dalton. He checks his face in the mirror before he gets out of the car, and he looks like shit. He forces himself to smile, and he still looks like shit. He checks his phone and sees a text from Kurt and, while it's not the apology he wants, it's something. Still, he feels like shit.  
   
Thankfully, he doesn't run into anyone on the way to his room, and his roommate isn't in. He undresses, wraps himself in a towel and walks down the hall to the showers. He shuts himself in a stall and turns on the water as hot as it will go and lets it pour over him. He doesn't sing.  
   
When he gets back to the room, he throws on sweats and stretches out on his bed to delve into his notes on the Mexican-American War. But the next thing he knows, his roommate is shaking him awake and telling him it's time for dinner.  
   
"Go away," Blaine murmurs. "I'm having a sexual identity crisis."  
   
"Um, okay," says Justin. "But it's Indian tonight."  
   
"I don't care."  
   
"Mr. Holden will ask."  
   
"Tell him I'm sick."  
   
"But then he'll come check on you."  
   
"Tell him I'm bisexual."  
   
Justin is towering over Blaine, who still hasn't moved from his sprawling position on the bed. "Um, Blaine, even if that's true, it's not a reason to miss dinner." Justin scrunches his eyebrows together when he says this. Still, he somehow manages to not look very concerned.  
   
"Like you would know," Blaine says tersely.  
   
Justin plops down onto the bed next to Blaine and glares at him, but his voice is gentle. "What the fuck is going on with you, Blaine? You've been really weird since you got back last night."  
   
Blaine props himself on his elbows. He really doesn't want to talk about this, but he's kind of said a lot already. And Justin is pretty cool. Not, like, best friend material, and way too obsessed with _Star Trek_ and the NHL, and totally uninterested in any music but Rush, but he's trustworthy.  
   
"Okay," says Blaine. "Promise not to tell anyone?"  
   
"Why the fuck would I tell anyone?" Justin laughs. "No offense, but I usually have more interesting things to talk about than Blaine Anderson."  
   
Blaine rolls his eyes.  
   
"Fine," smiles Justin, raising his hands in the air in a perfect parody of surrender. "I promise. Now tell me what the fuck is going on."  
   
"You've said 'fuck' three times in the last minute," says Blaine.  
   
"Yeah, and I'll say it a whole fuck more if you don't talk."  
   
Blaine sits up, pushing his back against the headboard. "I went to a party this weekend with Kurt and got drunk and made out with one of his friends."  
   
"In front of him?" Justin asks.  
   
"Well, yeah."  
   
"God, you're an asshole."  
   
"Why does that make me an asshole?"  
   
"Because he's totally in love with you, Blaine. And even if you tell me you're not interested – which is bullshit, in my opinion – he's your friend and you don't treat friends who are in love with you like that."  
   
"Justin, he's _not_ interested in me," Blaine says.  
   
It's Justin's turn to roll his eyes.  
   
Blaine sighs loudly. "I know what you all say but he is _seriously. Not. Interested._ Okay? We're friends. That's it. That's all either of us want."  
   
"Of course," says Justin. "That must be why he seemed upset today."  
   
"He's just upset because it wasn't a _guy_ I was making out with."  
   
"Well, I kind of gathered that," Justin says. "I mean, that it was a girl. Given your sexual identity crisis. She must be _really_ hot."  
   
Blaine listlessly drops his hand to his pillow. "I didn't really notice."  
   
Justin gives him a quizzical look. "You didn't really notice?"  
   
"We were playing spin the bottle and she got me on her turn and – I was surprised. It was pretty nice. And I was really wasted. So I kept kissing her the rest of the party to see if it felt the same. And then this afternoon I was at the Lima Bean with Kurt and she called and asked me on a date and I said 'yes.'"  
   
"In front of Kurt?"  
   
"We're _friends_ , remember? Two gay guys can be friends without trying to get into each other's pants all the time."  
   
"I didn't say anything about pants."  
   
"Kurt's just mad about the date because apparently I'm supposed to the role model for happy gay teens everywhere. But you know what? It felt good kissing her, and it's not like I'm gonna get kissed by anyone else anytime soon, so why not live a little?'"  
   
Justin groans. The look on his face is full of – Blaine's not sure. Condescension? Pity? Understanding?  
   
"Blaine," Justin says, "have you kissed anyone before?"  
   
Blaine grabs a pillow and throws it at Justin's chest, but the thump it produces is extremely unsatisfying. Justin just smirks. "I don't see how that's any of your business," Blaine says.  
   
"You just made it my business," says Justin. "Now tell me the truth."  
   
Blaine looks down at his hands and starts picking at the callus on his index finger. "No, I was a kiss virgin before Saturday night."  
   
"Okay, Blaine," says Justin. "I'm going to tell you something. Now I'm not saying it applies in your situation, and I'm not saying you're not bisexual, or that you are bisexual, because maybe you are – whatever, I don’t care. Now quit your slouching and sit up straight."  
   
Blaine crosses his legs and complies – then wonders why he did. He decides to blame it on having just woken up. "So what are you going to tell me?"  
   
"Okay," Justin says. "I'm going to tell you about my first kiss. When I was nine, I started making out with my cousin Julia."  
   
"When you were _nine_?"  
   
"Shut up. I'm telling you a story." Justin pauses, twisting the end of his tie with one hand. "First we started kissing, and then we started necking – I don't really remember the dates of everything. That's not the point. The point is it felt awesome."  
   
Blaine cannot believe he is hearing about his roommate's kind of incestuous sexual (or pre-sexual, or semi-sexual, or whatever it is) history.  
   
"And the other point is –" Justin pauses. "The other point is I was never in love with her, and she was never in love with me.  We only saw each other in the summers and at Thanksgiving and Easter and I didn't think about her much when she was gone, and as far as I can tell, she didn't think much about me, either. When we were 13, I had this huge, huge crush on this girl from church named Amber, and Julia was in love with some up-and-coming juvenile delinquent named David, and it was all unrequited – which is really good in her case – so at family get-togethers we'd sneak off into this old barn and feel each other up saying, 'Amber, Amber,' and 'David, David.'"  
   
Blaine can feel his own jaw dropping so wide, he's not sure it won't fall off his face completely.  
   
"Don't give me that look," says Justin.  
   
"Well, it's a little TMI," says Blaine.  
   
"No, it's not," says Justin. "It's exactly what you need to hear because it's exactly what you're doing with Kurt. You're afraid, so you make out with someone else or you sing about sex toys to a manager at the Gap and you hope it'll be good enough."  
   
Blaine can feel his ears burn.  
   
"Sorry, maybe I'm out of line. But I've seen the way you look at him. And you guys text each other like 20 times a day."  
   
"What, are you reading my phone history now?" says Blaine, a little impetuously.  
   
"I don't have to," says Justin. He punches Blaine's shoulder lightly. "Look, I really don't know what's going on in that kooky little head of yours. But I have my guesses. And sometimes I wonder if my guesses aren't more right than yours."  
   
Blaine sighs and picks at another callus.  
   
Justin stands up. "We need to get to dinner. Come on."  
   
Blaine follows Justin out to the hall, and he really can't help himself. "So you still got it going on with your coz?"  
   
Justin looks back at him and snorts. "Weren't you the one shrieking 'TMI' a minute ago?"  
   
Blaine puts his hand on Justin's shoulder and says melodramatically. "Justin, I care about you, so I care about your love life. Or your non-love life. Whatever it is."  
   
Justin sighs. "I can't believe I'm telling you any of this. But no, we're not. I think we kind of got it out of our systems with the David and Amber thing. That got us brave enough to try making out with people we actually had feelings for. And even though I'm not dating anyone right now – well, I don't really want to go back to pretty good making out when I know what mind-blowing making out is like. So it's just me and the hand, now."  
   
"Ugh," says Blaine. "As long as you keep it to yourself."  
   
Justin raises his hands to his face, feigning despair. "God. Even my gay roommate doesn't want to see me jerk off. Or my bisexual roommate – whatever. I feel so unattractive."  
   
"Don't worry, Justin." Blaine slaps him on the back. "Soon you'll find a girl who wants to watch you jerk off – no, to help you jerk off – and she'll be whispering, 'Justin, Justin,' the whole time."  
   
Justin smiles. "You are such a hopeless romantic, Blaine Anderson."  
   
\------------------  
   
For the third night in a row, Kurt can't sleep. On Saturday night (Sunday morning, really), it was the sound of Blaine breathing and murmuring in the bed above him and the thought that Kurt could just crawl in there and – well, Kurt wasn't exactly sure what they would do once he was in there, but his body wanted to find out so, so badly.  
   
Last night, it was the lingering smell of Blaine on his sheets and all those images from the night before: The look of bliss on Blaine's face as Rachel tugged his lower lip. Blaine gripping Kurt's thigh. Blaine's eyes everywhere, those eyes that looked at Kurt in a way that no one had ever looked at Kurt – expectant and trusting and _hungry_. And if Blaine hadn't been drunk off his ass and hadn't made out with Rachel Berry, those looks would have been enough for Kurt to know that it had finally happened, that Blaine felt the same way about Kurt that Kurt felt about Blaine: _When I'm with you, I'm whole._  
   
Kurt resisted, tried to think of other things, tried his usual bedtime lulling ritual of going through French irregular verbs, but then he hit _vouloir_ ( _to want_ ) and the pronouns became Kurt and Blaine – _je veux, tu veux, il veut, nous voulons_ _(I want, you want, he wants, we want)_ – and he was lost all over again until finally, finally he broke down and did what he had promised himself he would never do. He buried his face in the sheets, smelling Blaine's hair gel and deodorant and utter Blaine-ness, and imagined they were Blaine's hands on his body – _il me veut_ _(he wants me)_ – and he came so hard it frightened him.  
   
Kurt changed the sheets today, but he is never, ever going to change the pillow cases. He needs to smell Blaine near him, especially now that he's pushed Blaine away. _Oh, poor Blaine._ Kurt is a monster. He keeps replaying their conversation from earlier today in his head, trying to remember every hurtful word that came out of his mouth so he can scrape it into his conscience and never forget what a horrible friend he is to Blaine. He couldn't see it when Blaine was across the table from him, but now it's all he can see – Blaine's eyes darting away, his hands trembling so slightly, his voice weak and cracking and full of –  
   
Kurt's not sure what.  
   
 _Anger?_  
   
 _Disappointment?_  
   
 _Self-righteousness?_  
   
 _Betrayal?_  
   
Kurt feels a wave of nausea and rolls over.  
   
 _Yes. Betrayal._  
   
He grabs his phone off the side table and powers it on. It's 2:12 in the morning – way too late to call Blaine – but Kurt has to say something. So he texts, "Sorry I am such a dick, _"_ and hits _send._  
 


	2. Monday, You Can Fall Apart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact the he enjoyed kissing Rachel at the party is confusing for Blaine. But what's more confusing is Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at figuring out what was going on in the boys' heads during 'Blame It on the Alcohol' (2.14) and why that fight in the Lima Bean didn't end their friendship.

\-------------  
  
 **Chapter 2: On Tuesday, You Made Me Warm**  
   
It's after 2 a.m. and Blaine is finally almost done with his essay on the Mexican-American War _._ He just has to clean up his citations a bit. Which is a little hard to do almost four hours past his regular bedtime, but there's really no choice, since he cried and slept his afternoon away instead of doing homework.  
   
His phone flashes and he flips it open. He reads the message ( ** _From Kurt:_** _Sorry I am such a dick._ ), and he would laugh from relief if Justin weren't snoring peacefully in the other bed.  
   
He chews his lip as he thinks about what to say because, yeah, Kurt  _was_  a dick. But since talking to Justin, Blaine's been trying to reconstruct the argument in his head – which is actually pretty difficult, because Blaine kind of turned his brain off somewhere in the middle of it – and did he really compare Kurt to Karofsky? Wow. If that's not a dick move, Blaine doesn't know what is.  
   
So he stares and stares at  _Sorry I'm such a dick_  and tries to weigh Kurt's bigotry against his own stupidity to see which one is worse, but the scale in his head won't tip either way.  
   
His thumb starts to move over the buttons of his phone.  
   
 **To Kurt:**  No. You *were* a dick. Not expecting you to make habit out of it.  
 **From Kurt:**  You're sweet.  
 **To Kurt:**  Anyway, I'm no saint, either.  
 **From Kurt:**  Don't turn this around. I'm trying to apologize.  
 **To Kurt:**  I'm allowed to apologize, too.  
 **From Kurt:**  No. *I* am an asshole and *you* really are too kind.  
 **To Kurt:**  No. I think those might be exactly the wrong words to describe me right now.  
 **From Kurt:**  Not sure what to say to that.  
 **To Kurt:**  I'm sorry I'm so confused right now.  
 **From Kurt:**  I know.  
 **To Kurt:**  I think it's going to be a really hard week.  
 **From Kurt:**  Probably.  
 **To Kurt:**  I wish I was as good as you are at figuring personal stuff out.  
 **From Kurt:**  That's the impression I try to give. Not sure it's true.  
 **To Kurt:**  I really don't understand myself sometimes.  
 **From Kurt:**  I know.  
 **To Kurt:**  I'm really glad you texted me.  
 **From Kurt:**  Me too. But I thought you'd be asleep.  
 **To Kurt:**  Yeah. I should probably go to bed and finish my report in the morning.  
 **From Kurt:**  Good night?  
 **To Kurt:**  Good night, Kurt.  
 **From Kurt:**  Good night, Blaine Warbler.  
\------------------  
   
Warbler rehearsal goes surprisingly well, given how exhausted Blaine looks. Blaine sits down in his usual place next to Kurt for the first part of the meeting, and even though they don’t really say anything but breathy and slightly embarrassed "hey"s to each other, Kurt feels reassured. Wes announces after warm-ups that they'll start working on "Misery," to which Blaine says, "If you don't mind that I'm going to totally suck. I got, like, three hours of sleep last night."  
   
"Well, there's 15 other people here who need to learn the song, Blaine, so I really don't care," says Wes.  
   
Kurt can see the tops of Blaine's ears flush pink, and is a little flustered by how positively delighted that makes him feel.  
   
Blaine does fine, anyway. He's not somersaulting on the couches or tap-dancing on the tables or dancing flirtingly around the other Warblers. He's just standing there, in one spot, sounding beautifully, appropriately miserable at all the right parts. Kurt never thought a Maroon 5 song could make him feel so – well, make him feel  _anything._  
   
It's confusing and a little breathtaking to see Blaine this way. He's always been so confident and sure of himself – dangerously so, if Kurt's honest about it. It led to Blaine almost getting the crap beaten out of him by Karofsky that day in the stairwell and it led to Blaine convincing the entirety of the Warblers that it was a great idea to help him sexually harass a Gap employee.  
   
Now that Kurt thinks about it, he realizes that Blaine's self-assurance has been slowly dissipating since that episode at the Gap. Blaine hasn't given Kurt much unsolicited advice lately about the order in which he should do his homework (history first because Dr. Fairfax will  _never_  accept a late assignment) or the best spot to sit in the library (back to the south window so he can get the advantage of diffuse sunlight but not be distracted by the birds flitting about the dogwood branches below) or the best shortcuts from any point on campus to any other point (too many to summarize).  
   
When they study together now, Kurt sometimes catches Blaine looking at him, eyebrows scrunched together and lips slightly parted, as if Blaine has gotten stuck on a particularly difficult geometry proof or can't remember the present subjunctive  form of  _asseoir._ "Do you need help?" Kurt will say, and Blaine will look a little startled and shake his head or mumble, "No," before turning back to his books.  
   
And then, last week in Blaine's dorm room, Blaine looked up from his email and said, frowning, "Kurt, I need your advice."  
   
Kurt was pretty sure he had never heard Blaine speak those words to anyone, not even a teacher.  
   
"Yes?" Kurt said, taking a sip of coffee to quell his shock.  
   
"My dad found a '58 Corvette Roadster and he says he'll buy it if I want to restore it with him this summer."  
   
Kurt coughed so hard that some of the coffee ran out his nose.  
   
"You okay?" said Blaine, bringing a box of Kleenex over to Kurt. He sat down next to Kurt on the bed and tentatively patted his back.  
   
Kurt wiped his nose and coughed a few more times for good measure. "Yeah, I'm fine," he said. "Just – that's a really nice car. Maybe even better than the Bel Air you guys worked on before."  
   
"I know," sighed Blaine, drawing his hand slowly down Kurt's back before pulling it back into his own lap. He stared at the floor.  
   
Kurt tried to ignore the tingling in his spine. "But?"  
   
"I'm not really all that into cars. Being able to drive them is good. But if mine breaks down, well – " Blaine looked up at Kurt and forced a smile. "Maybe I can just have you fix it for me?"  
   
The skin around Blaine's eyes and jaw twitched almost imperceptibly, and it made Kurt's stomach flip. "What do you want to do, Blaine?"  
   
"I don't want to pretend to my dad anymore. I'm tired of always being what people expect of me, Kurt."  
   
Kurt took a breath. "I, for one, just expect you to be  _Blaine_. And your father needs to learn that that's all he can expect of you, too. You're pretty perfect just the way you are, anyway."  
   
Blaine's smile wasn't forced this time, but it  _was_  small, the corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. There was something shy and almost sad about it. "Thanks, Kurt," he said, resting his hand on Kurt's knee for just a second as he stood up. Kurt wished Blaine would have just stayed there and told him what else was wrong.  
   
 _Desperate and confused._  Yes, these seem to be the right lyrics to describe Blaine Anderson these days. It must be why he sounds so good singing this song.  
   
 _I am in misery.  
There ain't nobody who can comfort me.  
Why won't you answer me?  
The silence is slowly killing me._  
   
Kurt wonders if the fact that he really, really wants to comfort Blaine right now makes him a bit of an angst whore.  
   
After the Warblers have run through the song a few times, Wes tells the section he's been leading that they've got it now, and he walks away from them to listen more closely to Blaine. "Put some more vim into it, Warbler Blaine!" he chirps. It confirms Kurt's suspicion that the Warbler Council could hear angels sing and the only thing they'd have to say about it was that it wasn't peppy enough.  
   
Blaine rolls his eyes at Wes and mouths "three hours of sleep" instead of singing one of the  _oh yeah_ s _._  Kurt thinks it's the closest Blaine has ever come to talking back to someone on the Council, and he rather likes it.  
   
When rehearsal ends, Kurt bends over to grab his messenger bag. He feels a hand on his shoulder and he knows he shouldn't expect Blaine to be ready to speak to him yet, but he hopes it's him, anyway.  
   
"Hey," Kurt exhales as he stands up and catches Blaine's eyes, which are tired and so, so lost.  
   
"Are you going home?" Blaine asks weakly.  
   
"Yeah," Kurt answers. "I told Dad and Carole that I'd make dinner tonight."  
   
"Oh," says Blaine, his eyes darting downward, and Kurt wants to wrap his arms around Blaine and let him bury his face in Kurt's chest. Kurt wants to promise to never, never hurt Blaine again, to always be his refuge.  
   
Instead, Kurt says, "I can walk you to the library, if that's where you're headed."  
   
Blaine smiles, and it's a real smile, bigger than the ones Blaine wore even when he was drunk. And, yes – Kurt is so relieved to see it.  
\------------------  
   
 _Not that I didn't care, it's that I didn't know.  
It's not what I didn't feel, it's what I didn't show._  
   
Blaine gives Kurt his arm as they step out into the dull, gray February light. The wind is fast and bitter, and Blaine can feel Kurt huddle in a little closer to his side.  
   
"I should probably start out with 'How was your day?', but I think from rehearsal I already know the answer," Kurt says.  
   
"Was I that bad?" says Blaine.  
   
"No. You were that raw," says Kurt. "I thought Wes was out of line. 'Vim' is inappropriate for a song about heartbreak."  
   
"'Vim' is appropriate for every song the Warblers do," says Blaine, kicking the toe of his shoe into a spot of frozen mud as they step onto the quad.  
   
"Respect the wingtips," Kurt says. "Do you know how much Florsheims cost?" For some reason, the admonishment doesn't annoy Blaine – it makes his whole chest feel warm.  
   
They say nothing for a moment, just walking forward with their arms linked, watching the bare trees draw silhouettes against the sky.  _This is nice_ , Blaine thinks.  _Maybe we can just forget yesterday happened._  
   
But then Kurt slows to a stop and he removes his hand from Blaine's arm. Blaine shivers. Kurt's eyes are watering – maybe it's from the wind – and his nostrils tremble with each breath. Kurt looks down at the ground and shoves his hands into his pockets.  
   
"Kurt?"  
   
Kurt raises his eyes to Blaine's, and Blaine's brain trips back into that moment Saturday night when the beauty of Kurt's eyes struck him like a revelation.  
   
"Blaine, I was horrible to you yesterday." Kurt's voice is shaking and it makes Blaine's whole body ache. "I was scared and I freaked out and I turned on my eviscerator. I should never do that to you. I never want to do that to you again."  
   
"Maybe," Blaine says. He hates seeing Kurt in pain. He would do anything to make it it stop. "But I kind of saw it coming, and I didn't do anything to keep it from happening."  
   
"That's not your job."  
   
"I know. I know it isn't. What I mean is, what I mean is that – I haven't been real with you, and I think that kind of set us up for a train wreck. "  
   
Kurt's eyebrows scrunch up in confusion. "What do you mean, 'not real'? Sometimes I think you're honest to a fault." He shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his overcoat. "Well, not to a fault, exactly. Just, you've been honest with me even when it's not the easiest thing for me to hear." Blaine wonders if Kurt's talking about the  _When Harry Met Sally_  discussion or about Blaine's description of Rachel's kissing, but now isn't the time to ask.  
   
Blaine shakes his head. "It's not the stuff I say, Kurt. It's –." He's not sure how to explain it, but Kurt is looking at him patiently, just waiting – not blinking, but not staring, either – and that's helping Blaine to find the words. It's the way that Blaine wanted Kurt to look at him yesterday at the Lima Bean.  
   
"Kurt, ever since I figured out I was gay I've needed everyone to think I'm perfect, that I'm in control, that I know everything, that I'm someone to look up to and I'm charming and flawless and irreproachable. I need them to think those things so they can't hate me, even if they want to."  
   
Kurt keeps his eyes on Blaine's, and  _God_  – with all their sympathy and tenderness, they make Blaine feel so strong. "Oh, honey," Kurt sighs.  
   
Blaine grabs Kurt's wrists and tugs them gently until Kurt's hands are free of his pockets. Blaine wraps them in his own. Maybe it's too much – he doesn't know – but he needs to touch Kurt, he needs Kurt's hands to ground him. Even if they're just friends and that's all they'll ever be.  
   
Blaine feels Kurt's thumbs rubbing the back of his fingers and he thinks maybe Kurt needed it too. The thought makes his knees weak, but somehow he keeps standing.  
   
"Kurt, what I need from you –" Blaine swallows hard. He looks down at Kurt's long fingers wrapped in his, and the sight steadies him. "I thought I needed you to think I was perfect, too. So I set myself up to be your role model, Kurt. And I just can't do it anymore. I need you to see who I really am. I'm a kid, and I make mistakes. Sometimes I make really big mistakes and hurt people I really care about."  
   
"And sometimes you're really wonderful," says Kurt, his voice on the edge of breaking.  
   
Blaine looks up at Kurt, those perfect, patient,  _cerulean_  eyes, and breathes deeply. "Kurt, I screwed up royally this weekend. So just please,  _please_  know that I'm sorry that I hurt you and please – I would feel so much better if I knew that you don't need to look up to me. I just need you – I just need you next to me. Okay?"  
   
"Oh, honey" – there it is again, and Blaine's heart skips a beat even as he tells himself that Kurt calls Mercedes that  _all the time_ and anyway Blaine doesn't really want it to mean anything more than that when he's not drunk, right?  _–_ "I kind of had my suspicions that you were human."  
   
Oh, shit. Kurt is crying. And Blaine thinks he should probably feel really bad about that because the last thing Kurt would want is to have tears streaking down his face in a bitter, 16-mile-an-hour-wind and he is going to have to use so much moisturizer to make up for that; but Kurt is smiling and all Blaine can feel is warmth and joy.  
   
Kurt pulls Blaine's head to his shoulder, wraps his arms around Blaine's back, and Blaine feels so safe. He wishes he could hear Kurt's heart beat through that heavy wool coat. Instead, he hears Kurt whisper, "And yes, I'll stand by your side as long as you let me."  
   
They stay like that for a while as Kurt sniffling slows. He finally murmurs into Blaine's forehead, "My ears are freezing. I'd better get you to the library."  
   
They resume their walk across the quad, and though Kurt doesn't take Blaine's arm again, they are close enough that their arms are touching from shoulder to elbow.  
   
"Kurt – " Blaine starts, but Kurt interrupts him.  
   
"You should go on that date with Rachel," Kurt says. That wasn't what Blaine had been about to bring up, but,  _okay._  "She's a nice girl. Well, underneath it all. A little challenging to one's patience, maybe. But I think you'll have a good time."  
   
They walk in silence the rest of the way to the library.  
\------------------  
   
 **From Kurt:**  You asleep yet?  
 **From Blaine Warbler:**  No.  
 **From Kurt:**  Nervous about your big date?  
 **From Blaine Warbler:** No. Homework. But I haven't figured out what to wear.  
 **From Kurt:**  You don't usually have a problem with that.  
 **From Blaine Warbler:**  Promised I would dress up as Ryan O'Neal.  
 **From Kurt:**  Not exactly known for his fashion sense.  
 **From Blaine Warbler:**  She found a movie theater that's playing Love Story.  
 **From Kurt:**  Charming. Haven't you seen that like a dozen times?  
 **From Blaine Warbler:**  Got all of Ali McGraw's lines memorized.  
 **From Kurt:**  Hopefully not too well. Rachel's a little competitive about things like that.  
 **From Blaine Warbler:**  Does she have them memorized too?  
 **From Kurt:**  Oh yes. She tried to convince me last year that it would be perfect for sectionals, and I had to keep pointing out that it's not a musical.  
 **From Blaine Warbler:** Not to sound like a 13-year-old girl, but LOL.  
 **From Kurt:**  To be fair, she said she could turn it into one. And I'm sure she could.  
   
\--------end of chapter--------  
   
  
 __  



	3. Another Wednesday of Things I Haven't Done

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact the he enjoyed kissing Rachel at the party is confusing for Blaine. But what's more confusing is Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at figuring out what was going on in the boys' heads during 'Blame It on the Alcohol.' (2.14) Thank you [](http://verdandil.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://verdandil.livejournal.com/)**verdandil** for betaing! Anything that's horrible, I wrote without her consent.

  
   
 _I think you're scared. You put up a big glass wall to keep from getting hurt, but it also keeps you from getting touched_ _._  
   
Blaine is at _Love Story_ with Rachel and, when Ryan O'Neal says that, Blaine can't help feeling like someone just whacked his heart with a brick. Rachel hands him a wad of tissues and pats his arm.  
   
 _Love Story_ is a tearjerker _(good)_ and, as Blaine has come to realize over the last few viewings, pretty sexist _(bad)._ He tries to overlook that part, but he's surprised to find that Rachel – a _girl_ – does, too, because she laughs and cries at all the right times, just like he does. Ali MacGraw is dying of leukemia, and neither her doctor nor her husband tells her that for several weeks. Because it's 1970 and it's perfectly acceptable to treat an adult woman like a child.  
   
He tells himself that they are all just victims of the age – he's sure that must be what Rachel's telling herself, because – seriously? He doesn't know her that well, but from the few interactions they've had and what he's picked up from Kurt and Finn, it's hard to believe that she would accept that kind of treatment in her own life. He's pretty sure there'd be some kind of lawsuit involved.  
   
He likes that about her.  
   
So he keeps looking at her, hoping for a flash of anger or a hint of incredulity on her face, but the only bit he gets is in that short scene in the kitchen, when Ali MacGraw tells Ryan O'Neal that she knows she's dying, and Rachel mouths along with her line about not wanting to be bullshitted anymore.  
   
MacGraw goes right from there to forgiving her husband, and Rachel seems to, too.  
   
But Blaine just can't. If Ryan O'Neal really loves his wife, wouldn't he tell her the truth? Especially since that truth concerns her. _Kurt couldn't hide something like that if he tried. And wouldn't, even if he could. Yeah, maybe it's a little blistering sometimes, but it's always the truth._  
   
 _Oh._  
   
Rachel hears Blaine sniffling and gives him another tissue before wrapping her hand around the back of his. It's comforting, but she doesn't get it. "It's heartbreaking how much he loves her, isn't it?" she whispers before turning her face back to the screen.  
   
 _How can she not see that this isn't what love is supposed to be like?_ Blaine wipes his eyes and glances at Rachel. Her face is glowing dimly, her eyes earnest and entranced, and he can see that there are tears rolling down her face, too.  
   
She is more beautiful than any girl he's ever seen.  
   
But it's not enough.  
\------------------  
   
Kurt knows there is probably nothing to worry about. Really. He should probably be more worried about Rachel and the weird Electra complex that makes her want to collect gay guys like Tony awards. Because, _really, what is up with that?_ You would think that having two gay dads would be enough.  
   
But he's not worried about Rachel. He's worried about Blaine, and he's worried about himself. Kurt's trying to be lighthearted about it – it's just one crummy little date – but if Blaine is as screwed up and confused as Kurt thinks he is right now, well, it could turn into another date and then another date and another one before Blaine figures out that Rachel's not at all what he wants.  
   
Kurt wants to say to Blaine, "Okay. So you're going on a date with Rachel Berry because you kissed her when you were drunk and it felt good and you want to see what it means. That's fine. I get it. No, really I do. Remember Brittany? Okay. I'm just wondering why I don't get a date by that logic. Because, from what I could tell, groping me when you were drunk felt _really_ good."  
   
But Kurt is not going to say that. It's too easy, and comes to Kurt too naturally for it to end up in anything good. And anyway, Blaine already apologized for the drunken groping – kind of. Kurt _thinks_ that's what Blaine's half of the conversation yesterday on the quad was about.  
   
On the other hand, Kurt is _not_ going to pretend it's all okay. He's not going to be an asshole, but he's not going to act like he would if it were Mercedes out on a date, either. He's not going to say, "How'd it go? What did she wear? Did you hold hands? Did you kiss?" He's not going to listen to what they talked about and try to read between the lines to determine whether this means a second date or a flop.  
   
Well, he's not going to talk about any of those things with Blaine. He's going to talk about them with Rachel. She's the one who called him yesterday to pick his brain about Blaine's favorite movies and favorite foods and favorite color and favorite everything, and he had answered every single question truthfully for reasons beyond his own understanding – not like back when she was wooing Finn. So he figures the least she owes him is a recap.  
   
"Hey, Rachel," Kurt says into his cell phone. "Has your basement recovered from the party yet, or are your dads going to come home to a heart attack?"  
   
He listens to Rachel launch into a tirade about Puck, who promised he was going to take care of everything but keeps making excuses for why he can't come over to get the booze stains out of the carpet. "Monday it was football practice and yesterday it was homework – _puh-lease_ – and today he tells me he got called into work for an emergency pool cleaning. In February."  
   
"Well, Miss Berry, you are in luck. I just happen to be in the neighborhood and there's not a carpet stain Martha Stewart hasn't taught me how to remove. Shall I?"  
   
Maybe he could have worn something a little darker and a little less hand-wash-only wool to clean up Rachel's basement, but the gray of his shirt and sweater brings out the blue in his eyes. And he likes the contrast of the sweater's chunkiness against the curved line of his shirt's club collar. He would be lying if he pretended not to know that he looks good. But it's understated enough not to be so obviously, _Rachel, I am way hotter than you, so give up_.  
   
Instead, it says it subtly: _Rachel, I am way hotter than you, so give up._  
   
"Thanks for helping with the party clean up, especially since you didn't even drink," she says once the worst stains are taken care of and all that's left are empty cups and straws strewn about. Oh, and Brittany's ginormous pink push-up bra.  
   
"I was in the neighborhood," Kurt says, realizing only afterward that he sounds like a broken record.  
   
"At 10 o'clock?" Kurt's pretending to be utterly focused on picking up the trash and therefore _not_ looking at Rachel. But he can practically hear her eyes shooting daggers at him. "Are you sure you're not here just to find out how my date with Blaine went?"  
   
 _"_ Oh, that was tonight?" Kurt doesn't even try to sound innocent.  
   
 _"_ Look, we're friends, so I'm going to be honest with you." They both stop picking up trash and look at each other. Rachel beams, and it actually makes Kurt's heart soften a little.  
   
To feel compassion – he _really_ didn't expect that. He came here to get the dirt, and to erode her confidence a bit.  
   
But maybe it's because he sees in her eyes a glimmer of how he must look when he thinks about Blaine – the pure awe of it. No, it's not as strong on her face, but there's a hint of it there.  
   
Rachel hugs the trashcan to her chest, which gives Kurt the hopeful thought that she's compensating for not getting to do that to Blaine earlier this evening. "The date was lovely," she says. "We saw _Love Story_ at the Revival Theater. We even dressed up as the characters." She releases the can from her chest and squats down to snatch up a cup.  
   
 _"_ That's not gay at all," he chirps. He pauses, not looking at her, picking up more cups and trying to sound nonchalant. But it comes out too singsongy, too curious: "Did you kiss?"  
   
"No," she sighs, but then adds, "Our lips spent the evening mouthing Ali MacGraw's dialogue," as chipperly as if that were an equally good substitute.  
   
Really, Kurt will never understand Rachel.  
   
"Frankly, I did expect a little snog as the date drew to a close," she adds wistfully, "but I guess the timing just wasn't right."  
   
"Or the blood alcohol level," Kurt says, trying to sound as if he's mumbling to himself, but making certain it's loud enough for Rachel to hear.  
   
"Look," Rachel says, a little pleading, and out of the corner of his eye Kurt can see that she's no longer gathering trash, just sitting on the stage and looking up at him. But he doesn't want to look at her yet. "I know that you have feelings for him and I'm sure you think I'm crazy for asking him out, but Blaine is obviously conflicted and if he turns out not to be gay, well then, I guess I will have done you a favor."  
   
Kurt looks at her and sees that she's a little vulnerable. And so he knows he should be kind. But it's so hard to be kind to Rachel sometimes, especially when she isn't.  
   
Kurt sits down next to Rachel on the stage and folds his hands over one knee. "And I'm doing you a favor by telling you that Blaine is the first in a long line of conflicted men that you will date that will later turn out to be only the most flaming of homosexuals." It's feels so good to draw out the sword. He can always do that to Rachel, because she will always pretend she doesn't care. In fact, he sometimes thinks it makes her even more sure of herself.  
   
Like right now. She straightens herself up, sticking out her chest, and asserts, "Blaine and I have a lot in common."  
   
"A sentiment expressed by many a hag about many a gay," Kurt says. And then he tries to pull back, be a little more serious, a little more gentle – or as gentle as he can be with someone so self-deluding. He tells her that she and Blaine have a great future together shopping at Burberry and arguing over who gets to play what role in _Cats_. She laughs at that. "But there's something that you and Blaine will never have. And that's chemistry."  
   
He's not going to explain to Rachel how he knows that. He's not going to say that he watched Blaine all Saturday night after spin-the-bottle, watched Blaine's eyes on Rachel, and saw only the playfulness and desire to please that he sees Blaine give everybody. Maybe a little more so, but still – the difference was quantitative, not qualitative.  
   
The looks Blaine gave Rachel are nothing like the ones he gave Kurt that night – searching and hungry, a strange mixture of needful and content. Even if Blaine was drunk then, even if those looks didn't indicate anything about how Blaine feels about Kurt, they did show the feeling that Blaine is capable of. Kurt knows that a sober Blaine will look at someone that way, someday. And he knows that someone won't be Rachel.  
   
"Fine," Rachel says. "Then I'll prove you wrong. I'm going to take the beer goggles off and I'm going to kiss him sober. And if the spark is still there" – she points at Kurt dramatically – "then _I_ am taking _you_ to your bakery of choice for a piping hot slice of humble pie."  
   
He wonders for a moment what humble pie would taste like, and thinks perhaps it's a shame that he'll never know, because Rachel makes it sound almost scrumptious. "You've thrown down the gauntlet, dear," Kurt says. "Challenge accepted."  
   
\------------------  
   
   
The room is dark when Blaine gets in. He closes the door quietly.  
   
"You can turn on the light," Justin says. "I'm awake."  
   
"Thanks. But I'm pretty good at getting around here in the dark," says Blaine. He sinks down on the edge of his own bed and slips off his shoes.  
   
"How was your date?"  
   
"Okay. She's nice." And it's true. She remembered that he likes the Lima Bean and offered to take him there after the movie even though he knows she prefers Starbucks. But he said no, he wanted to get back to Dalton to do homework. It was half true.  
   
"You sound completely smitten."  
   
Blaine laughs. He thinks it might be for the first time today.  "She's sweet," he says. When she moved in closer to him and leaned her head against his shoulder, it was comforting. He's not sure if that's the feeling she was trying to arouse, but Blaine liked it.  
   
Blaine sighs and pulls his sweater off. "But I don't think she's my type."  
   
"I could have told you that," says Justin. "How was the movie?"  
   
"Losing its luster." Blaine is in front of his dresser now, putting his folded sweater away in the bottom drawer.  
   
"Really?"  
   
Blaine stands up and leans against the dresser. "Yeah. I don't think they're really in love."  
   
"Wait. The movie is called _Love Story._ "  
   
"Well, she might love him. And he thinks he loves her. And we're supposed to believe he loves her. But he doesn't."  
   
Justin doesn't say anything, so Blaine continues as he unbuttons his shirt. "You're never going to see this movie, right? So I can tell you what happens?"  
   
"Probably not," says Justin. "But even if I do, knowing the end usually makes a movie better."  
   
Blaine works through pulling off the rest of his clothes and folding them on the top of the dresser as he continues. "She's dying of leukemia and the doctor tells him, but doesn't tell her. I didn't used to notice that was weird because if I was dying, my doctor would tell my parents first, not me. But then I realized that she's not a child and her doctor's not a pediatrician. But it's 1970, and I guess to doctors and husbands, women are the same as kids." Blaine pulls on his Clark Gable pajamas, then walks over to his bed to stretch himself out on top of the covers.  
   
"So what happens?" says Justin.  
   
"He doesn't tell her. The husband, I mean. He pretends like nothing's going on for at least two weeks. And the whole time I'm thinking, 'Dude, if you love your wife, you really need to tell her because it's _her_ life and it's _her_ decision to make.' I mean, she's smarter than him and tougher than him, so she really doesn't need protecting. If I can see that, you would think someone in love with her could see that."  
   
"Huh," says Justin. "So, does he ever tell her? Or does she just, like, die?"  
   
"He never says anything. She's the one who brings it up. He comes home one day and she tells him she went to the doctor herself because she knew something was wrong, and made the doctor tell her everything."  
   
"You know what would make an awesome movie?" says Justin. "If she killed him. And then used her smarts and his body tissues to find the cure for cancer."  
   
Blaine smiles at the idea, but he sighs loudly to make Justin think that he's annoyed. "She says something like she would have appreciated not being bullshitted, but she forgives him. I don't know if she would have forgiven him if she had all the time in the world. Maybe she would have divorced him and gone to Paris to study music and found someone new. I would have."  
   
"So she dies?"  
   
"Yeah. After a few months. She loves him to the end. It's awful."  
   
Justin is silent for a moment. "You know what I think?" he finally says.  
   
"What?" says Blaine.  
   
"I think Kurt would have ripped the doctor a new asshole for not telling – what's her name?"  
   
"Jenny."  
   
" – for not telling Jenny first."  
   
"What are you talking about?"  
   
"Just thinking out loud."  
   
But Blaine knows exactly what Justin is talking about, and he wishes he could hate him for it.  
   
  
  
 


	4. Thursday's Child Has Far to Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact the he enjoyed kissing Rachel at the party is confusing for Blaine. But what's more confusing is Kurt.

  
   
It is a vagary of the human condition that the confidence and certainty of one day do not often survive to the next.  
   
Talking to Rachel and letting her try to dash his hopes last night only made Kurt more sure of himself, more sure of Blaine's feelings for him, and gave him the thought – perhaps for the first time – that he and Blaine are each other's endgame. He went home and when he got in bed, the fading scent of Blaine on his pillowcases was no longer a taunt, but a promise. He fell asleep quickly.  
   
But now Kurt wakes up to a new day. And, in typical fashion, as the fresh sun rises over Lima, Ohio, fresh thoughts of failure assault Kurt.  
   
Kurt manages to avoid Blaine all day. It isn't that hard. It's Thursday, so there's no Warbler practice and they don't share any classes. All Kurt has to do is keep his cell phone off and be scarce during the in-between times. He walks into Dalton just in time to squeak into first-period French before the bell. He holes up in the chemistry lab at lunch to get ahead on some work. He stays after his last class to ask Ms. Ansari to explain again why the law of cosines holds true for any triangle.  
   
When Kurt finally walks out of the classroom and turns on his phone, he has four messages waiting for him.  
 

 

From: Blaine Warbler  
Where are you?  
Sent 12:07 PM

From: Blaine Warbler  
Justin got cappuccino machine for his birthday. Quick drink after classes? Meet me in dorm.  
Sent 2:04 PM

From: Blaine Warbler  
Drink = coffee, not booze. Not that much of a lush.  
Sent 2:06 PM

From: Blaine Warbler  
Need to get to fencing practice. See you after?  
Sent 3:17 PM

  
 

Kurt texts back:

To: Blaine Warbler  
Sorry. Phone off all day. Have to go home now. Need to get souffle ingredients. Cooking with dad tonight. Talk to you later?

   
He hits send.  
   
When Kurt gets home, he changes into the same outfit he wore yesterday to Rachel's. It's a confidence booster, and he needs that now. Maybe if he knows he looks good, he won't spend the evening worrying about what's going to happen when he talks to Blaine tonight – like, if Blaine will say the date was _lovely_ and he was disappointed that he didn't get _a little snog_ from Rachel. Kurt distracts himself through dinner by talking with Carole about his ideas for a budget version of a living room spread they both admired in _[Dwell](http://www.dwell.com/)_.  
   
And teaching his dad to make soufflé is also a good distraction at first. It requires most of Kurt's concentration, because Burt Hummel isn't quite following, and Kurt has to explain everything three times.  
   
But after they stick the first one in the oven, Kurt's mind starts to wander. He tries to keep his focus by sprinkling the conversation with didactic declarations – "Soufflé is all about the whites; you get yolk in it, or you don't let it stiffen properly, then you might as well be making pancakes" – but he's losing it.  
   
Kurt is irritated by everything.  
   
By the annoying way his dad is sneaking strawberries before the soufflé is ready – and not the ones with the stems still on them, but the ones they've already hulled.  
   
By the thought of Rachel's haughty face.  
   
By the memory of Blaine apologizing for groping him.  
   
By the fact that he's irritated about the apology, because sincere apologies are supposed to be a good thing. And Blaine was so beautiful when he made it. (He always is.)  
   
By the nagging thought that maybe Blaine wasn't apologizing for being disrespectful toward Kurt, but for leading him on.  
   
Because all Blaine really wants is Rachel.  
   
Kurt is beating the egg whites to within an inch of their sorry lives.

   
"Alright. Check it out," Burt says excitedly, pulling the first soufflé from the oven and proudly displaying it to Kurt. "Ta da!"  
   
That deflated soufflé is totally _not_ worth a "ta da." And Kurt knows it's probably his own fault for hand-beating the whites instead of using the mixer, but that doesn't keep him from rolling his eyes and exhaling loudly. "You didn't leave enough room in the dish to let it rise."  
   
He turns toward the sink for the cream of tartar. And also to look away from his dad. Because he knows he shouldn't have spoken that way, and he knows his dad is going to get petulant about it.  
   
 _Bingo._ "Why are you being so hard on me?" Burt says. "I would've been happy with you teaching me how to make toast."  
   
"I'm sorry, Dad. I know this is supposed to be bonding time, but – " and Kurt's about to make something up about being stressed about an English paper but – oh, what the hell. He might as well say it. His dad's a big boy. He should be able to handle it. Even if Kurt can't.  
   
Kurt sighs for the umpteenth time today and turns around to face his dad. "It's Blaine. He's interested in Rachel."  
   
Burt has this royally pissed look on his face and Kurt's not sure if it's leftover from Kurt's rudeness a few sentences earlier or it's a reaction to what Kurt just said.  
   
"I'm confused," Burt says. "I thought he was gay, too." Kurt does not fail to notice that Burt whips open the refrigerator door and stares at the beer as he says this.  
   
Kurt takes a breath and keeps talking. "Oh, he is. He is. He's just – experimenting."  
   
Burt grabs a bottle and twists off the cap in one motion. "Yeah," Burt snorts. "He's not the only one."  
   
Apparently, this is Kurt's week for conversations that fall apart when he really, really needs them not to. Because now his dad is asking about why exactly Blaine slept over on Saturday night and Kurt finds himself saying, "We were fully clothed the entire time," and, seriously, why should he _ever_ have to say that? His dad, of all people, should now how Kurt Hummel was raised.  
   
But it's like his dad didn't even hear him. Burt goes on about Blaine sleeping over being "inappropriate" and something about sex and do gay guys always do it the way they did in the tent in _Brokeback Mountain_ and – seriously? _Brokeback Mountain?_ Kurt thought his dad was better than that.  
   
So they don't talk about Blaine, about how confusing this is, about how Kurt sometimes feels like his heart is the world's pincushion, and would people just please stop stabbing him there?  
   
Kurt wants to scream, but he manages to stay calm. He usually does when his dad's like this. It's as if, after Kurt's mother died, he and his dad made an unspoken arrangement to take turns losing their tempers, just to keep the remains of their tiny family from collapsing completely.  
   
So Kurt apologizes for letting Blaine sleep over, even though he doesn't mean it.  
   
"Thank you," Burt says.  
   
Kurt turns away. He knows this is supposed to be father-son bonding time, but he really doesn't want to bond with Mr. Everything-I-Know-About-the-Gays-I-Learned-From- _Brokeback-Mountain_ right now _._  
   
Kurt is about to stomp off, but suddenly he feels himself hesitating. Because, really, he needs a dad who knows the difference between emotionally stunted cowboys violently fucking on a Wyoming mountainside and _his own son_ falling stupidly, hopelessly, pathetically in love.  
   
So Kurt takes a deep breath and faces his dad, whose eyes are stoic anger and fire. Kurt looks into them, anyway. "But maybe you could step outside your comfort zone and educate yourself." Kurt shrugs. He would hate the hurt and appeasement in his voice if he was talking to anyone but his father, who – even after this snafu – he trusts not to turn it against him. "So if I have any questions, I could go to my dad like any straight son could."  
   
Kurt knows it probably sounds to his dad like he's talking about sex, and maybe he is a little, but it's a lot more than that.  
   
Burt stands there, beer bottle in his hand, looking a little dazed and a little exasperated, and Kurt finally turns away now, walks to the entry way and grabs his hat and gloves. "I'm going for a walk," he calls as he shuts the front door behind him, reaching into his pocket for his phone.  
   
He dials Blaine without even thinking about it.

\------------------  
   
Blaine's not sure if he's done something to fuck it all up again or if Kurt's disappearing act today is just a coincidence. All he knows is that it's never been so hard to go without Kurt.  
   
Blaine was so happy today when he woke up. All he wanted was to bring Kurt coffee and tell him how horrible _Love Story_ is. Actually, he almost texted _Love Story leaves much to desire_ to Kurt last night, but he deleted it before sending. He was talking about the movie, but it could just as easily be read as a comment on the date, and how would Kurt interpret that? That Blaine thinks Rachel is a loser? That would be insulting Kurt's friend. That Blaine thinks Rachel is hot but she wouldn't let him get past first base? He totally didn't want Kurt's mind to go there. He didn't want _his_ mind to go there.  
   
All Blaine could think of this morning was that he was going to make things right. This stupid, stupid episode was completely over, and Blaine was going to be a good, dependable friend again and not so fucking confused all the time.  
   
Coffee would be the perfect peace offering, but it turned out to be a little more complicated than it sounds. Blaine didn't want to bring Kurt coffee from the dining hall, because that stuff was Folgers or something equally godawful, and some left-leaning alumnus really needs to create an endowment for the school with the stipulation that only fair trade, shade-grown coffee be served on campus.  
   
So Blaine sheepishly asked Justin to please make an extra espresso on his new cappuccino machine. _Pretty please?_ Justin looked at him askance and said, "You hate espresso."  
   
"It's not for me," Blaine said.  
   
"Well, in that case." And a few minutes later, Justin was pouring a double shot into a travel mug and handing it to Blaine.  
   
"It's not going to stay warm long in that. It's mostly air," said Justin.  
   
"Oh, it's fine. I'm going to add hot cocoa to it in the dining hall."  
   
"That fucking Swiss Miss knockoff? That's an insult to my espresso."  
   
"If you let me do this again, I promise I'll go out and get real mocha ingredients."  
   
"Unless you get real mocha ingredients, I'm not doing this again."  
   
Blaine bolted his breakfast and practically ran to the common room to wait with the makeshift mocha for Kurt. And wait. And wait. He kept checking his phone to see if maybe Kurt had texted him and he hadn't heard it buzz, but no. Kurt was almost never this late. Or, rather, Kurt was almost at least half an hour early to school, and he always came to the common room to wait for the bell. Always.  
   
So Blaine waited and pretended to be Reading Important Things when anyone tried to talk to him and finally the warning bell for first period rang and Kurt still wasn't there.  
   
Blaine left the travel mug on the table and went to class.  
   
In third period, his ears pricked up when someone mentioned borrowing Kurt's French notes from him today. Good. Kurt was at school. He'd see him at lunch.  
   
But then he didn't. And he wanted to ask every single person in the dining hall if they had seen Kurt, but instead he sat down with Wes and asked him how he could improve his performance of "Misery." As expected, Wes had enough feedback to fill the entire lunch period.  
   
When Blaine finally got that text from Kurt after school, he resigned himself to not hearing Kurt's voice until at least nine o'clock.  
   
So, after dinner, Blaine settles on his bed for a long session of staring at his algebra textbook and cursing [al-Khwarizmi](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mu%E1%B8%A5ammad_ibn_M%C5%ABs%C4%81_al-Khw%C4%81rizm%C4%AB#Algebra). He's not long into it when his phone rings. It's too early for it to be Kurt; Blaine grabs his phone eagerly anyway.  
   
And then he sees that it is, indeed, _Kurt Hummel_ flashing across the screen.  
   
Blaine flips his phone open. "Hi, Kurt. How's it going?" He tries to sound casual, not like _Were you avoiding me today?_  
   
"I can't imagine that it could get much worse," Kurt says on the other end of the line, his voice tremulous.  
   
"Oh." _Nonononono. Don't be sad again._ "Does this have something to do with why you were so hard to track down at school?"  
   
"No. Not really. It's my dad. We just had a fight."  
   
A lot of guys Blaine knows boast about disputes with their parents like they're badges of honor. Not Kurt. Never Kurt. Blaine kind of loves that about him.  
   
"I'm so sorry, Kurt. What happened?"  
   
"He pulled out _Brokeback Mountain._ "  
   
"He wanted to watch _Brokeback Mountain?"_ Okay, that would be seriously awkward – especially that tent scene – and the Heath-Ledger-and-his-wife-have-yup-that's-probably-anal-sex scene, and the Jake-Gyllenhaal-goes-cruising scene, and the high-altitude-fuck scene – okay, pretty much the whole movie would have been awkward, even with a guy who tries to be as understanding as Kurt's dad. Hell, it's awkward to watch by yourself _._ "But I thought you guys were making soufflé."  
   
"Yes. We were. But then – "  
   
"Yeah?"  
   
"Well, apparently my dad thinks I have a sex life as portrayed in _Brokeback Mountain._ "  
   
"How did _that_ come up?"  
   
"Perhaps you recall that my father found a young man who may or may not be gay in my bed this weekend."  
   
"Oh. Oh, Kurt. I'm sorry."  
   
"It’s not your fault. Anyway, I told him that nothing happened" – ( _not for lack of me trying_ , Blaine thinks, ashamed) – "and I'm pretty sure he believes me. It's just – "  
   
"Yeah?"  
   
 _"Brokeback Mountain?_ Is that what my dad sees when he looks at me? He must think I have a terrible life ahead of me."  
   
"And a really unpleasant sex life."  
"Blaine – "  
   
"Sorry, Kurt. They're just not very affectionate. _At all_ affectionate." Blaine was _drunk_ on Saturday and gropey gropey, and he was still way more affectionate than that asshole Ennis Del Mar.  
   
"Blaine."  
   
"Sorry."  
   
"It's just – When Dad looks at Finn, does he see some depressing movie about straight people who ruin each other's lives? No, he sees Finn."  
   
"Kurt – "  
   
"What?"  
   
Blaine doesn't want to slip back into mentor mode. Ever. But a friend should say what he thinks, right? He just shouldn't act like he _knows_. Okay. He can do this – he hopes.  
   
"Kurt, your dad said something really stupid."  
   
"I know."  
   
"And from what you've said of him, I'm guessing he probably regrets it."  
   
"I know."  
   
"I'm not saying I wouldn't want to punch my father if he ever brought up _Brokeback Mountain_ to me. Which I hope to God he never does. Because then I would have to decide whether to punch him or not."  
   
"You're all talk."  
   
Okay. Blaine's going to ignore that because, come to think of it, he's not sure he's ever told Kurt about the boxing lessons and that he actually has punched quite a few people in his time, even if it was all pretty gentle and refereed. "I'm just saying that –I suspect that your dad really loves you, even if he says stupid things sometimes."  
   
Blaine hears Kurt's sigh as a bolt of static over the phone. "Yeah. I just wish it was easier sometimes. Like he didn't think he had to try so hard to understand me. I'm just a person. But he thinks he has to watch _Brokeback Mountain_ to get where I'm coming from, and it's so _not_ where I'm coming from."  
   
"I know. Like with us." Blaine doesn't realize what he's saying until it's already out of his mouth, and he really wishes he could unsay it.  
   
"What?" But Kurt doesn't sound irritated. He just sounds confused.  
   
"I mean, it's different, it's a lot different, but – nevermind."  
   
"Tell me. I'm not going to bite your head off. I already did once this week, and that was more than enough to last me a while."  
   
"Well, it's like how I wanted you to know that I'm just a person."  
   
"I do know that, Blaine," Kurt says slowly. "And I did know that. I just don't make it clear all the time."  
   
Blaine's not sure why he feels so emotional but – _Blaine Anderson, you are not going to cry._ "I just – maybe your dad and you react to things in similar ways sometimes."  
   
"You mean, by being assholes?" says Kurt, his tone mischievous and maybe – though Blaine's really not sure about this – a little flirty.  
   
"That's not what I said."  
   
"I did, though." Blaine can hear Kurt laughing now – real laughter, light and musical – and a glowing warmth uncoils from Blaine's sternum and radiates through his chest. He thinks he never again wants to go a single day without hearing that beautiful laugh.  
   
"Kurt –"  
   
"Yeah?"  
   
"About that guy in your bed."  
   
"Yes?" And Kurt's voice is still now, and calm, and Blaine can picture Kurt's face like he's right there, looking Blaine in the eye, those perfect eyebrows arched and waiting. Blaine doesn't know how Kurt can keep his composure so well when all Blaine wants to do is fall apart.  
   
"There's no maybe or maybe not. He's definitely gay." And even though nothing ever _will_ happen between them and nothing ever _can_ happen, Blaine vaguely hopes that, if Kurt wants to read anything between the lines there, he will.  
   
Kurt's silent for so long that Blaine wonders if the phone cut out.  
   
"Kurt, are you still there?"  
   
"Yeah."  
   
"And?"  
   
"Don't say that for my sake." Kurt's voice is exquisitely tender.  
   
"I'm not." Blaine hesitates. "I mean, I don't think I am."  
   
"Blaine," Kurt says, "let me be perfectly clear. What I said in the Lima Bean, about bisexuals – If you're bisexual, it's fine with me. It really is. Just, like my dad, sometimes I get caught by surprise that people don't fit into the little boxes I made for them and I say really stupid, hurtful things. I need to learn to step outside of my comfort zone."  
   
"Do you really mean that?" _Wow._ That came out kind of rude, even though Blaine didn't mean it that way _at all_. Blaine wonders if he's beginning to let his guard down too much around Kurt.  
   
But it's so easy to. He's not sure he can stop.  
   
"Yeah, I do, Blaine." Kurt's voice is still so gentle, so patient, like he knows somehow that it is the only thing that keeps Blaine from breaking. "I can't pretend that it doesn't confuse me, but it's not the point. I'm not going to lose you as a friend just because I don't understand. And I'll try to understand, if you need me to."  
   
This is why Blaine is friends with Kurt. Because Kurt is so much more than he ever expected, and he keeps being so much more.  
   
"Kurt," Blaine says. And then he stops. That one syllable is all he needed to say.  
   
"Yeah?"  
   
Blaine supposes he should say something else, though all he wants to do is repeat Kurt's name like a mantra. So he chooses a word that means pretty much the same thing.  
   
"Thanks," Blaine says.  



	5. Friday, and the World Is Clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fact the he enjoyed kissing Rachel at the party is confusing for Blaine. But what's more confusing is Kurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, verdandil, for your beta-ing and pretty-sobbing.

 

  
   
   
Kurt Hummel has a bad feeling about Rachel's plan. The one that Kurt kind of consented to on Wednesday night. As if Blaine was a pawn in their game.  
   
So, there's the guilt about that.  
   
And there's also the fact that Blaine reaffirmed last night that he's gay. Of course, Kurt's not sure that's true – and he's also not sure it's any of his business to have an opinion on whether it's true.  
   
Well, putting both those things aside, Kurt's worried that this plan could very well end up in public humiliation. Not for Kurt, but still. Kurt knows all about public humiliation, and even Rachel – even after being such a crappy friend – doesn't deserve that fate.  
   
Because if Blaine's now saying that he's gay, Kurt can only assume that sparks did not fly for him on his date with Rachel.  
   
But there she is, warming Blaine's seat at the Lima Bean, rubbing gloss on her lips in preparation for the big smack down. So to speak.  
   
So Kurt tells her. "I've got a bad feeling about this Rachel. I mean, I don't mean to be a scold, but I don't want you to get hurt either. There's no victory in this for me either way." And it's true. Just because Blaine won't choose Rachel, it doesn’t mean he'll ever choose Kurt.  
   
Rachel just rolls her eyes and says, "Who cares about you, buddy?" and Kurt changes his mind. Rachel deserves public humiliation, at least today. She keeps chattering on with something equally offensive, but Kurt no longer cares, because the doors have just swung open and it's Blaine.  
   
Blaine.  
   
Blaine walking into the Lima Bean.  
   
And Kurt knows he just saw Blaine at rehearsal, but – Well, that was performance Blaine. And this is _Blaine._ His friend Blaine. Kurt is overwhelmed by how beautiful he is, and he remembers the sound of Blaine's voice last night, how tenuous it sounded and how full of what sounded like intimate affection – which Kurt is sure he was imagining, but still – it made Kurt feel _whole_ and _home._  
   
Blaine looks slightly lost as he glances around the Lima Bean for Kurt. A little vulnerable. There's something about that look that always makes Kurt want to rescue Blaine, sweep him into his arms and take him somewhere safe, pour comfort and desire onto his lips until Blaine feels invincible.  
   
If Kurt were as brave as he wants to make Blaine, he would go up to Blaine right now, whisper _Here I am_ and kiss him.  
   
But Rachel beats Kurt to the punch. She's already bolted from the table and there she is, grabbing Blaine's shoulders and pulling him down to her face and _snogging_ him and –  
   
Blaine doesn't pull away as fast as Kurt would like. His eyes are closed and – _oh._ Maybe last night's proclamation of gayness was a little too early, the easy intimacy too misleading. And the thoughts are just swarming in Kurt's head. Because bisexuality is fine theoretically. It's fine in reality. As long as Blaine never chooses anyone but Kurt.  
   
And then the kiss is broken, and Blaine is staring at Rachel, a little stunned, and Kurt thinks, _Oh, there goes my heart._  
   
Kurt hears it then. "Yep, I'm gay. One-hundred percent gay." And again, in Blaine's trademark eager, polite, flattering tone: "Thank you so much for clearing that up for me, Rachel."  
   
Kurt sees Blaine smile shyly at him over Rachel's head and he thinks, _Oh, there goes my heart._  
   
But it means something completely different – and good – now.  
   
\------------------  
   
Blaine should not feel so exhilarated. He's just walking into the Lima Bean, which means he hasn't had his coffee yet, which means he should be dragging.  
   
But he's thinking about sitting across from Kurt Hummel. And even though the awfulness of the past week should maybe make him nervous about that, he can only seem to remember the wonderful parts: Waking up in Kurt's room, surrounded by the smell of his sheets and the comfort of knowing that Kurt was nearby. Kurt's laughter unraveling the tension in Blaine's chest into pure, languorous warmth. Kurt, staying his friend through everything.  
   
What he's not thinking about is Rachel Berry. He hasn't thought much about her at all since watching her drive off on Wednesday.  
   
But then she's there, in the Lima Bean, in front of him, looking up at him expectantly, and he thinks, _Wow, I'm a cad. I haven't even called her to thank her for the movie._ And so he starts, "Hey Rachel, what's going on?" and he's about to continue, _You know, I had a really nice time on Wednesday,_ but then she's up in his face and on his lips and –  
   
She's totally the wrong height and the wrong smell and the wrong taste, but if he closes his eyes he can almost forget and if he tries to remember the smell of Kurt's skin on Saturday night, he can almost –  
   
Blaine pulls away. "Huh." That's Rachel in front of him.  
   
And Blaine Anderson is totally gay.  
   
"Yep. I'm gay. One-hundred percent gay," Blaine says, and he kind of feels like skipping around the Lima Bean and bursting into song. But that might be rubbing it in, and Blaine remembers his manners. "Thank you so much for clearing that up for me, Rachel."  
   
Rachel is just staring at him a little slack-jawed, and he doesn't know her well enough to figure out what that look means, but he doesn’t really care. Which maybe makes him even more of a cad, but he'll worry about that later. Because, over her head, he sees Kurt now at their usual table and he gets that little happy feeling he always gets when he first sees Kurt and then – _Oh, fuck. He saw that._  
   
Blaine needs a minute.  
   
He excuses himself to the restroom and – really, did he just ask her to save his place in line? _Super cad._ He'll have to apologize for that when he gets back.  
   
He bends over the sink and splashes his lips because they're a little sticky and taste like cherry Chapstick, and that is so not his flavor. He likes honey and mint and cinnamon and coffee. Maybe this makes him mega cad, washing the taste of a girl off his mouth. But he didn't exactly ask her to kiss him. And he doesn't want her lingering on his lips when he goes back out to talk to Kurt. So he rubs his mouth with a dollop of soap and rinses about 20 times.  
   
Good. The flavor's gone. He tastes like soap now, but that's a little more tolerable.  
   
When Blaine steps out of the bathroom, Kurt is leaning against the wall, coffee in hand.  
   
"Medium-drip, Mr. Anderson," he says, arching his eyebrows in that way that Blaine would call seriously seductive if he didn't try to avoid thinking about it that way. Kurt nods his head toward the table where he'd been sitting earlier. "Come on, I saved a seat for you."  
   
"Thanks, Kurt," says Blaine, taking the coffee from Kurt's hand, letting himself brush Kurt's fingers as he does so. Blaine doesn't always feel at home in his real home, but something about that touch feels the way that home should be.  
   
"Where's Rachel?" Blaine says as they walk toward the table, and he congratulates himself for asking about her, because maybe that makes him a little less of a cad. "Is she okay?"  
   
Kurt laughs as he settles into his chair. "Oh, she's more than okay. You should have seen how thrilled she was to be rejected by a gay man."  
   
"Thrilled?"  
   
"Like she had just won a Tony."  
   
"Huh."  
   
"She ran off to go write a song about it. Because being dumped by a guy who turns out to be gay is" – Kurt lets go of his coffee to make air quotes with both hands – "'songwriting gold.'"  
   
"It's not like we were dating," Blaine says. "We went on one date. And it was kind of crummy. I mean, she was nice, but it was crummy."  
   
Kurt takes a sip of his coffee and lifts his eyebrows again and Blaine wishes he wouldn't do that because it really makes it hard to think. "So, how are you?"  
   
Blaine squints at his coffee cup so he can gather his thoughts. _Oh, there they are. Thoughts. Good._ "I'm okay. I'm fine. A little creeped out. Didn't exactly expect to be accosted in the Lima Bean. But what goes around comes around, I guess." He looks back up and sees the quizzical expression on Kurt's face. "I accosted Jeremiah in the Gap," Blaine says, and thinks, _I accosted you everywhere I could._ "So I guess getting accosted in the Lima Bean is my comeuppance."  
   
Kurt smirks and rolls his eyes, but his face quickly stills. His eyes are on Blaine's, just watching, and Blaine feels – _whole_. Blaine's not sure what that feeling means. But he likes it.  
   
"Can I ask you something?" Kurt says. "It's really none of my business. You don't have to answer. I'm just wondering."  
   
Blaine swallows. "Ask anything."  
   
"Are you sure about the 100 percent gay thing? Because – it's none of my business, really, but – you kind of seemed to linger."  
   
"It is your business," Blaine says, and as soon as he says it he wonders if that's too _what? forward?_ because Blaine isn’t even sure what he wants from Kurt or why he wants, and maybe Kurt _isn't_ completely uninterested, because Kurt's face lights up and his eyebrows do that thing again and – hell, Blaine will be as kind-of-forward as he can if it makes Kurt look like that. "Remember what you told me about Brittany?"  
   
"Yes."  
   
Blaine inhales sharply and makes himself look into Kurt's eyes. "It's amazing how nice it can be to kiss a girl when you're thinking of someone else." He doesn't have the courage to say any more.  
   
Kurt is thoughtful, a half-smile on his lips. That face, which normally doesn't hide anything from Blaine, is so enigmatic right now.  
   
Kurt starts to hum, and then he's singing softly, "I kissed a girl and I liked it, the taste of her cherry Chapstick."  
   
Blaine laughs. "No. I really didn't like the cherry Chapstick."  
   
Kurt answers with his own laugh and then they are both singing Katy Perry – Kurt quietly and Blaine crooning – their eyes fixed on each other _._ The rest of the café disappears. The world is just Kurt and music and giddiness, and Blaine wonders if he will ever find the right song to sing to a boy who makes his heart dance.  
   
   
   
\------------end--------------  
   


End file.
